


Skunk Cabbage

by missmollyetc



Series: Murphy's Crew [7]
Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Murphy's Laws of Combat # 29</b></p><p><i>"Try to look unimportant; the enemy may be low on ammo."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Skunk Cabbage

  
In theory, designating a Lieutenant 'LT' in the theater of operation is an attempt by the military to decrease the enemy's ability to identify and eliminate the ranking officer while in country. It in no way signifies a lessening in prestige and/or authority as regards the dissemination and execution of an in-country command. In addition, enlisted men and non-commissioned officers are instructed not to salute,  
or in any other way indicate a difference in status between themselves and superior officers when operating in the field.

In practice, this is bullshit.

 

"LT?"

LT lifted his head from the desk, and looked towards the door of his hootch. Standing in the doorway, hands braced on either side of the frame, was Zeke. Sunset came streaming over his shoulders, orange light pooling at his feet.

"Graves came by," Zeke said. "They picked up Hutchins and Macklin."

LT nodded. "Good, good," he said, and rubbed a hand over his face, scratching the stubble under his chin. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Yeah sure." Zeke took a step back outside, and then paused. He drummed his fingers on the lintel. "Permission to enter, sir?"

"Of course." LT sat straighter in his chair. He put both hands on the desktop, and coughed, blinking rapidly. "What's wrong?"

 

  
_~~~~~_

A name is a method of classification. A name is an identity. To change the name of a man is to change his basic nature. When 'Lieutenant Myron Goldman' became 'LT'--without first name, surname, or nickname--Lieutenant Myron Goldman ceased to exist.  
Oh, he put up a fight--he was a Goldman, after all--but in the end, LT won. Because that's what LTs do.

~~~~~

 

Zeke entered the room quickly, closing the door behind him, and throwing the latch. His shoulders hunched in on themselves.

"Sergeant?"

LT stood up and away from the desk, dragging the chair out from behind him with one hand. He stepped around the side of the desk, and moved closer to Zeke. He scratched his elbow through a small hole in his shirt.

"I didn't forget the I-29 form again, did I?" he asked.

"...Myron," Zeke said.

 

  
_~~~~~_

A lieutenant is a butterbar, a fuckin' REMF who couldn't find his ass without four extra hands, a sergeant, and a road map with no big words. They get the prestige, the salutes and the glad-handing. They last maybe a day in the field 'cause if the enemy doesn't get them, then their men sure as hell will. Lieutenants get people killed and move on to the OC for a gin and tonic with other lieutenants while they jerk off listening to stories of how many blood trails they all picked up that day.

~~~~~

 

LT's eyebrows rose. "I beg your pardon?"

Zeke's hands rose and hovered over LT's chest. "Myron," he repeated.

His chest rose and fell, grazing Zeke's fingertips. LT blinked. "Sergeant, did you acquire Tourettes's Syndrome when I wasn't looking?"

Zeke's hands fisted in LT's shirt, dragging LT forward. He shook LT, laying his thumbs along LT's collarbones.

"Myron," Zeke said again. Eyebrows drawn down, his eyes stared into LT's. "Myron."

LT could feel the heat from Zeke's body pressing to his. His hands landed on Zeke's hips. The buckles of their utility belts clanged together. Zeke took a deep breath. He transferred one hand to the back of LT's neck.

Zeke brought LT's head closer, his breath whispered across LT's lips. "Myron," he said.

 

  
_~~~~~_

An LT is an officer, the little king sitting on top of a powder keg and fucking daring it to blow up on him. An LT doesn't get prestige, doesn't get noticed unless he fucks up--and then he's a lieutenant--doesn't get a salute and, if he did, wouldn't know what to do with it. An LT gets people killed and sits in his hootch downing whiskey shots, writing letters of regret to the parents of men he bled with and maybe barely knew.

~~~~~

 

Myron clamped down hard on Zeke's hips. "Zeke."

He brought his head in fast and kissed Zeke hard on the lips. His teeth caught on Zeke's lowered lip and he bit down. Zeke wrapped his hands around Myron's back. Their teeth clashed as Myron forced Zeke's head back, tongue diving into Zeke's mouth. Fast, dirty kisses that had Zeke panting into Myron's mouth, driving his cock against Myron's hip.

 

  
_~~~~~_

A lieutenant is clean. His clothes are laundered daily. While in the field, he takes the time to shave, to scrub his hands. He even remembers to wash behind his ears. He is an example to his men (if he remembers their names.) He's a great big, shiny target for the VC. He stands out, never breaking regs and never letting anyone forget that he is. A lieutenant.

~~~~~

 

Myron hooked one leg behind Zeke's knee and toppled him onto the bed.

"Jesus! Warn a man, would ya?" Zeke laughed.

Myron smirked. "Why?"

Zeke flipped them over so that he lay half over Myron's chest. "So's I can avoid getting stuck with something unpleasant."

He unbuckled his utility belt with a grimace and dropped it on the floor.

"Can't have that now, can we?"

Myron tugged Zeke's head back down and slid his tongue inside Zeke's mouth slowly, curling the muscle around Zeke's tongue, and drawing it back into his own mouth. Zeke groaned and fell forward on Myron's chest. He tightened his hands on Myron's biceps.

Slowly, slowly, Myron dragged his lips away from Zeke's mouth and down his neck. He bit a collarbone and soothed the bite with a small lick.

Zeke's breath was shaky. "_Myron._"

"Suck me," Myron said.

 

  
_~~~~_

An LT is as dirty as the orders he gives. His clothes have patches and holes. He hasn't shaved or bathed, and he smells as bad as the grunts stuck on latrine duty burning shit. At first glance, the only thing distinguishing him from his men is his proximity to the RTO.

~~~~~

 

Zeke shuddered and began to slide down Myron's body. He pushed the t-shirt up Myron's stomach, kissing the bruises he found there. He unbuckled the utility belt, placing the palm of his hand over Myron's cock and massaging through the tough pants.

Myron's hips bucked upwards.

A loud knock at the door froze the both of them where they lay.

"LT? Sarge?" Baker's voice came through the thin wood.

"What is it, Baker?" Myron sat up. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Zeke let his head fall into Myron's lap. He kissed the clothed cock under his lips and felt Myron shiver. Myron put his hand on the back of Zeke's head. His fingers scratched idly through the small curls.

"There's some guy from CP here. Wants to talk to you," Baker said. "Johnson's got him over by the dispensary 'cause he thought you might've gone to see that pretty nurse, but he sent me here to look for you and maybe Sarge too, so--"

"Yes! Thank you, Baker. Go tell Johnson to bring the guy over here," Myron said.

"Sure thing, LT!"

Zeke and Myron carefully disentangled themselves, easing away from each other and off the bed. Zeke picked his utility belt off the floor and wrapped it around his waist.

"What do you think he wants, LT?" he asked.

LT shook his head. He downed the last bit of whiskey left in his glass and put the bottle back in his desk.

"Not sure," he said. "Maybe...wasn't Macklin on loan from Intelligence?"

Zeke snorted. "Yeah," he said.

"Sergeant, at least try to show a little respect for branches of the army other than the infantry."

"Well, I've always held a soft spot for the boys who run the bar, sir."

"It's a start." LT grinned briefly. He did up his belt and ran a hand through his hair.

Baker knocked on the door. "He's here, sir!" he called.

LT cleared his throat. "Come in!"

**Author's Note:**

> The characters of Tour of Duty do not belong to me. No profit is being made from this story.
> 
> Graves is the mortuary service of the military


End file.
